


Back from whence we came

by PinotPurple



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Buried Alive, M/M, The Buried - Freeform, Twisted love, being gay in the victorian era, suffocation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-10-29 20:18:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20802368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinotPurple/pseuds/PinotPurple
Summary: Nathaniel Beale’s last thoughts before going to sleep forever.





	Back from whence we came

“Nathaniel, nobody can hear you from here!” Hezekiah taunted. “And the more you scream, the faster the air will run out, you know.”

Had he been able to move, Nathaniel would have punched him in the jaw. 

Not only was he trapped inside a coffin and already six feet under, Hezekiah Wakely was there with him, further narrowing his space and his air supply.

_This is a terrible nightmare, it has to be._

He ran in his mind for the tenth time what transpired the previous day and just a short while ago. Fearing the worst from what became of Hezekiah Wakely, he left his home and found shelter at another friend, further away from the city. He followed his usual routine before bed and fell asleep. He slept like a log and when he woke up he felt heavy and drowsy, not knowing for a moment where he was or even who he was. His eyes didn’t want to open yet. He felt constricted by something, but couldn’t focus enough to think it through. 

Gradually, he became aware of a presence, sitting very close to him. He recognised the feeling. He recognised the weight next to and against him, the nose pressed into his cheek, the skinny arms wrapped tight around him. In his sleepiness, he smiled and cuddled closer. It didn’t register that that was no longer his reality. It hadn’t been for decades. He was so happy to bask in Hezekiah being next to him as when they were young, small and clingy, the Hezekiah he knew and loved, the Hezekiah that had his flaws but whom he loved nonetheless. The Hezekiah that didn’t ramble about entombing, who didn’t murder.

As this thought passed his mind, Nathaniel Beale woke up fully, feeling very afraid.

”Hezekiah...?” He asked, dreading the answer.

”Nathaniel...” Hezekiah’s voice answered, something _mischevious_ in it. He felt his wet breath against his jaw and neck.

Nathaniel opened his eyes, but the darkness behind them was the same as the one surrounding them. _It was pitch black_. Nathaniel could hear, from what felt like very fall away, a rumble above him, a rhythmic scraping, getting more and more muted. _He was being burried._

He screamed and trashed, panic overtaking him. He hit his elbows and his legs against hard wood and Hezekiah, who didn’t dodge (not that he really could) or protest. He simply waited for Nathaniel to exhaust himself. 

The rumble stopped, it could no longer be heard. The burial was over. The gravedigger was probably leaving, not knowing what he had done. Or knowing too well. Hezekiah infected someone else with his mania. Or there were already people like that and Hezekiah simply joined them.

Hezekiah told him to calm down, as though oblivious of the gravity of the situation he put the two of them in, almost _annoyed_ with Nathaniel’s distress. When he heard Nathaniel stop shouting for help and begin to whimper, he softened.

”Oh, don’t cry, dear Nathaniel, don’t cry.” He said, going back close and petting his victim’s hair. “I am here with you. You should rejoice. We will soon be dead and buried. We will be freed of all burdens beneath the gentle weight of the Earth. Nothing can harm you here. I promise you I won’t, I have no reason to, despite your... _ahem_. It does not matter.”

Nathaniel chocked on his own sobs, his nose congested, breathing getting harder by the minute.

”I was going to bury you and then return to my churchyard. But as I set you in your coffin, I was suddenly overcome with melancholy. Despite your betrayal, you are my friend. My childhood friend, my... my _dear, sweet friend_.” Hezekiah said in his ear, as if telling a secret, as if anyone could still hear them, and Nathaniel shivered. “And so I decided to join you, for now. Until you go to sleep and I watch over you for a while. Or, better yet, I’ll stay here for good. It is the best of both worlds. I will return to Earth and forever rest, together with you. Isn’t it wonderful? Isn’t it perfect?”

_No, it’s not, you lunatic._

”Finally, we can be without any worry... Aren’t you glad? Only you and your dear friend...”

_You are **not** Hezekiah. You are a monster, a demon that possessed him._

Nathaniel breathed deeply, desperate gasps. He couldn’t tell if the air was genuinely thinning or if his panicked mind was warping his limited perception.

He couldn’t see anything and what wasn’t harsh wood was Hezekiah, invading his space, stealing precious air with his constant babble. Hezekiah adjusted himself. He was practically on top of him. His mouth continued to move near his face. He was whispering, as if not to disturb the absolute silence.

Nathaniel could feel Hezekiah’s eyelashes brush against his cheek as he blinked. He lay with his eyes open. He could feel his hand on his chest, on his heart. He could feel his ribs through his clothes, his bones jutting out, his hips against his own. _Something so monstruous had no right to seem so frail_. Their legs were tangled and Hezekiah seemed to try to hold him still, to stop his tremors. He kept talking, trying to soothe him, to lull him to sleep, but he kept going on and on about the Buried, about sleeping, about death, about the sweet embrace of it and of the Earth, of many other gods like his that apparently existed, but who were no match to his own.

”Shut up!” Nathaniel barked, more tears spilling out. “Just shut up!”

Hezekiah actually stopped. All Nathaniel could hear was his pounding heart and his breathing, and Hezekiah’s breathing.

His racing mind slowed down. He felt dizzy, his head felt light despite the burn of fear and panic. The coffin felt tighter. Literally. It felt like it was constricting the more air ran out. Hezekiah would shift closer with each squeeze. Hezekiah stayed quiet, running dirty and calloused hands over his clothes, wiping away tears, resuming petting his hair. From time to time he’d kiss his cheek or his forehead. How much time has it passed inside the coffin, under the ground? Had he been asleep for long in the coffin before waking up? Was anyone looking for him? For either of them? _How did it come to this?_

Nathaniel met Hezekiah when they were little boys. Hezekiah was poorer than him. He worked along with the adults in his family in the effort to survive. When he had even a moment of repose, he ran to Nathaniel to play. They played games, played pranks, explored the neighbourhood and the city, got in trouble, ran errands together. Hezekiah’s clothes were more often than not caked with mud and grime. He’d seek to get Nathaniel looking worse than him, and Nathaniel would giddily try to outrun him. _Was it then when it started?_

During the summers, they’d go to the farms and villages near their city, to do odd jobs for some pocket change. Those were happy times, despite the heat and the exhaustion for just a couple of coins. They’d work and play in the sun, under the endless blue sky, in green, yellow and orange fields. They’d take walks up the hills where cattle and sheep grazed, feeling broken away from civilization, feeling safe enough to hold hands as they walked.

The hills and plains between villages were dotted with trees. Their favourite was one that stubbornly grew on the edge of a hill with a small "cliff", no taller than them. Its roots hung bare, exposed to the air, holding handfuls of dirt and stone, creating little caves, shelters for bugs. Nathaniel and Hezekiah would sit by the roots, in the tree’s protective shade. They’d kiss, clumsily, both of them nervous and inexperienced. Bugs and birds sang around them and the air smelled of damp soil.

Nathaniel kept trying to breathe. Air refused to go past his neck and down in his chest, as if his own body was now constricting. The smell of soil and sweat and cold made it hard to force it in. He was more and more tempted to give up, not to try to inhale again after exhaling. 

Nathaniel went to school, in hopes of getting a job with better payment if he had better studies. Hezekiah couldn’t afford it. He remained where he was, burying himself in work, barely staying afloat. The two of them met less and less as the years passed and work places changed, but they kept in touch through letters. Only for each-other's eyes, they poured out their hearts to one-another, shared dreams of better times, of easier lives. They kept their bond alive, despite the distance, despite the lack of contact. Of closeness.

Hezekiah always worked, all his life. As a boy, then as a youth, then as a man he confessed to Nathaniel how tired he was. But he didn’t have any other choice. He refused to marry, as did Nathaniel, and his family was killed off one by one, by their poverty or by disease or by the hardship that is living. Hezekiah went from burying himself in work to burying himself in drinks. Misery, Death and the Buried - the three out of four constants in Hezekiah Wakely’s life.

Nathaniel, the fourth, took it in his own hands to look for a new place for him. He heard from a friend that a graveyard was in need of a gravedigger. It was terribly morbid, but it wasn’t like they haven’t done worse or grosser things. _Was this all because of Nathaniel?_

Breathing was a chore. Nathaniel’s mind felt as numb as his body did. He couldn’t even panic anymore. Hezekiah stroked his cheek. His skin felt crackled. Like the ground after a drought, it soaked up his tears. Did Hezekiah become an earth monster? Was he going to bury Nathaniel in a coffin inside the Earth, then also fill up the coffin with earth? There wasn’t anyone burrying them, but Hezekiah himself through his new form, his new god? Nathaniel didn’t know. He couldn’t think clearly. Thinking was too hard. He was so tired.

”I love you, Nathaniel.” Hezekiah said, voice raspy and strained. Was it hard for him to breathe too?

”I... love you... too...” Nathaniel said, air refusing to go through anymore.

He felt Hezekiah smile wide against his cheek. He cupped Nathaniel’s face and kissed him on the lips. They were dry and chapped and tasted of dirt, but so soft and tender as they took his last breath that Nathaniel felt his eyes water again. Relief washed over him and he relaxed. He had no more questions, no more doubts, as he fell asleep. This _is_ Hezekiah. His dear Hezekiah.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  



End file.
